Darkness, thats how it all starts.
The darkness in itself is not something fearful, but it is the overpowering in-existence that inspires fear. Because this darkness is not that of sight but of perception. I cease to see, hear, feel, taste and smell. Perhasp for that moment I actually die.
Minds are connected by fear and by joy so they interfere. They cause disturbances in the fabric of reality and the scenes and sounds morph to adjust to the distortions, a dreadful fight between order and chaos, dreadful because in the end Reason pays the debt of its power. I see minds as small repositories of conscious floating in vast sea of unconscious, perhaps some kind of Jung inspired unity of minds. But I do not see them united, I see them divided and fighting to build walls around themselves. Because the self is the wall is the self. It is by raising walls that you define borders that make your self that made the wall, a vicious circle of recursive self definition. Perhaps this is the gift and the doom of humans, to be a part of a whole while constantly fighting to diffrentiate because the whole is made and lead by the differences. But I digress.
My dreams morph into what I call a sea of minds. For some reason, my minds are green (this is pre-wachowski brother's idea of green) and they shine, dimly yet unmistakably among the wispy light green strands that connect and divde the whole sea. The minds are not uniform in size or in luminosity and they do not radiate peace or stabilty, instead it is a sea full of activity, full of thought, full of conflicts and compromises and a surly hum of restlessness, resentment, smugness and jealousy. But it cannot boil over because the minds (like us) cannot tolerate disturbance, any large disturbance will be quelled, any silence will be taken over by that continuous restless hum, it is some kind of horrific comfort of uneasiness that sustains this sea of minds.
***
There are things in mind that I am mortally afraid of. There are things that are insurmountable for me, they incapacitate me and lock me into inaction. They are my own devils, they are no personifications of vice or virtue but they exist and their existence is proof enough for me that there is a devil.
I often wonder how it would be like to feel pure hatred, pure untouched complete and baseless hatred. I think I get close to that when I think about my devils. But they are not afraid of hatred, I think they thrive on that, because every time I think of them, they become stronger. Hence I cannot even hate them.
The first devil comes in my mind as the primal incarnation of fear. It takes the shape of a wooden idol with large mouth and glaring eyes, that is what its face is. It does not do anything but it stares to me unbending, unblinking till I know that I am without salvation. The fear is not physical, I don't break into a sweat and have chills running through my spine. But my mind goes numb and I stop thinking. A kind of hopelessness takes over where even martyrdom is without its trappings. And that is when I die the second time. Because I am reminded of my hopelessness at seeing the burnt dead body of that child in Kenya, because I am reminded of my hopelessness when I remember that photograph of that man pleading for his life in the communal riots, because I am reminded of my hopelessness when I saw that child suffering from Leukaemia and crying and because I am reminded of my powerlessness on countless other situations.
The second devil is a witch. She is a witch because she takes on all the faces that I can't see. She takes on all the perversions that I harbor in my mind and enacts them in front of me. and I cannot close my eyes. Because she is in my mind and I am her.
***
But I live in my dreams, they are what I am. They are the manifestations of all that I want to become and they are the nearest that I will ever get to being me. Beyond all the shackles that I have taken on and the chains that the society has bound me with.
With darkness it will end, I hope.
A morphed translation of my dreams into words.
The darkness in itself is not something fearful, but it is the overpowering in-existence that inspires fear. Because this darkness is not that of sight but of perception. I cease to see, hear, feel, taste and smell. Perhasp for that moment I actually die.
Minds are connected by fear and by joy so they interfere. They cause disturbances in the fabric of reality and the scenes and sounds morph to adjust to the distortions, a dreadful fight between order and chaos, dreadful because in the end Reason pays the debt of its power. I see minds as small repositories of conscious floating in vast sea of unconscious, perhaps some kind of Jung inspired unity of minds. But I do not see them united, I see them divided and fighting to build walls around themselves. Because the self is the wall is the self. It is by raising walls that you define borders that make your self that made the wall, a vicious circle of recursive self definition. Perhaps this is the gift and the doom of humans, to be a part of a whole while constantly fighting to diffrentiate because the whole is made and lead by the differences. But I digress.
My dreams morph into what I call a sea of minds. For some reason, my minds are green (this is pre-wachowski brother's idea of green) and they shine, dimly yet unmistakably among the wispy light green strands that connect and divde the whole sea. The minds are not uniform in size or in luminosity and they do not radiate peace or stabilty, instead it is a sea full of activity, full of thought, full of conflicts and compromises and a surly hum of restlessness, resentment, smugness and jealousy. But it cannot boil over because the minds (like us) cannot tolerate disturbance, any large disturbance will be quelled, any silence will be taken over by that continuous restless hum, it is some kind of horrific comfort of uneasiness that sustains this sea of minds.
***
There are things in mind that I am mortally afraid of. There are things that are insurmountable for me, they incapacitate me and lock me into inaction. They are my own devils, they are no personifications of vice or virtue but they exist and their existence is proof enough for me that there is a devil.
I often wonder how it would be like to feel pure hatred, pure untouched complete and baseless hatred. I think I get close to that when I think about my devils. But they are not afraid of hatred, I think they thrive on that, because every time I think of them, they become stronger. Hence I cannot even hate them.
The first devil comes in my mind as the primal incarnation of fear. It takes the shape of a wooden idol with large mouth and glaring eyes, that is what its face is. It does not do anything but it stares to me unbending, unblinking till I know that I am without salvation. The fear is not physical, I don't break into a sweat and have chills running through my spine. But my mind goes numb and I stop thinking. A kind of hopelessness takes over where even martyrdom is without its trappings. And that is when I die the second time. Because I am reminded of my hopelessness at seeing the burnt dead body of that child in Kenya, because I am reminded of my hopelessness when I remember that photograph of that man pleading for his life in the communal riots, because I am reminded of my hopelessness when I saw that child suffering from Leukaemia and crying and because I am reminded of my powerlessness on countless other situations.
The second devil is a witch. She is a witch because she takes on all the faces that I can't see. She takes on all the perversions that I harbor in my mind and enacts them in front of me. and I cannot close my eyes. Because she is in my mind and I am her.
***
But I live in my dreams, they are what I am. They are the manifestations of all that I want to become and they are the nearest that I will ever get to being me. Beyond all the shackles that I have taken on and the chains that the society has bound me with.
With darkness it will end, I hope.
A morphed translation of my dreams into words.
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